THE life of Saint Berach was full of wonders from the very first. For
when he was a boy at home in the house of his father, Nemnald, he had a
vision. An angel appeared to him and beckoned him to follow. So he went,
and the angel led him straight to the monastery at Glendalough where
holy Saint Coemgen lived with his friend the white doe, and taught
boys to be wise. And Berach joined the other boys to be taught all that
Saint Coemgen knew, and to learn other things beside.
Ireland was a wild country in those days, for this was only six hundred
years after Christ's birth and the little towns had hardly begun to
grow. The huts which men had made in the wilderness--calling them houses
and schools and churches--were not close together but far, far apart.
Wild beasts prowled everywhere, and there were no policemen.
Close by the monastery were the broad green meadows where the monks
pastured the herds of cows which gave them milk. From the windows of his
cell the young monk loved to watch the cows and their calves browsing
the juicy grass and wading in the brooks which ran under the rows of
willows. He especially loved Bel, the sleekest, most beautiful of them
all, a proud mother cow who had a new little red calf.
One day as he was watching Bel and her baby who had strayed a little
distance from the rest of the herd, he saw something which frightened
him. A great gray wolf was hiding in the shadow of a hedge, creeping
nearer and nearer to the peaceful pair. But Bel did not guess that an
enemy was so near. Berach hurried down the turret stair and out of the
gate, hardly pausing to tell the brother porter whither he was going.
For he knew there was no time to lose.
He ran to the meadow, and pushed through the blooming hedge of
hawthorne. But alas! he had come too late. The great gaunt wolf, who was
very hungry, had pounced upon the little red calf, and had eaten it up.
Poor Bel, wild with grief, ran lowing about the pasture as if seeking
for her little one. But the wolf was slinking out of sight.
When Berach saw what had been done, at first he was very angry with the
wolf, for he loved Bel dearly, and it troubled him to see her sad. He
thought how lonely the poor cow would be without her calf, and when she
came pitifully lowing up to him as if asking him to help her, the tears
stood in his kind eyes. But then he thought how hungry the wolf must
have been. Poor thing, how thin and hollow he had looked,--perhaps he
was not so much to blame after all. Probably he had never been taught
any better.
And then a strange idea came to Berach. He was a wonderful man, and he
must have had great power over animals. For he called to the wolf, who
was already some distance away; he called loudly and in a stern voice.
You will hardly believe it, but the wolf came slinking back, frightened
and whining like a naughty puppy, and crouched at Berach's feet. Then
the Saint spoke kindly to the wolf, no longer treating him like a
murderer and a thief. He called the cow also, and taking her by the
horns led her gently to the wolf, soothing her so that she was not
afraid of the great gray beast.
And Berach said to the cow, "See, Mother Bel, this shall be your child
now, in place of the little one which is gone. He will be a kind and
gentle son to you, I promise." And to the wolf he said, "Here, Wolf, is
the mother whom you need to make you gentle and good. You shall be kind
to her, and make her forget the wrong you have done by being a loving
and dutiful son, ever doing her bidding." So after that the cow and the
meek wolf dwelt peacefully together in the meadows of the monastery, and
he shielded her from danger, and like a huge watchdog kept away the
other wild beasts from the herd.
After that came a winter when for weeks the ground was white with snow,
and the laughing mouths of the brooks were sealed with ice. Duke
Colman's little son had been sent to school at the monastery, and the
boy was very ill. He was hot and thirsty, and his throat was parched
with fever. So little Edward begged for juicy apples, and for salad of
fresh sorrel leaves,--things which were not to be found in all the land
in the dead of winter. But Coemgen the Abbot trusted in the power of
his young friend who could tame wolves. "Go forth, my son," he said to
Berach, "take my staff and bring what the boy needs."
Then Berach retired to his cell and prayed that he might be blessed to
save the dear child's life. After that with faith and courage he went
out into the white meadows, using the Abbot's staff to help him over the
great drifts of snow. He came to the row of willows by the frozen brook
where the cows had loved to wade. And here he paused. Lifting the staff,
he touched the bare brown branches of the willow on which the snow clung
like shreds of cotton wool, and he pronounced a blessing. Instantly the
snow began to melt as it does before the sun in April. The stiff brown
twigs turned green and became tender and full of life. Then gray willow
buds put forth woolly little pussy-willows, which seemed fairly
bursting, like fat round kittens. They grew bigger and bigger, rounder
and rounder, till at last they really did burst, and plumped great
rosy-cheeked apples into the lap of the Saint, who held up the skirt of
his gray gown to catch them as they fell. Lo, under the trees meanwhile
the snowdrifts had melted, and little green leaves were poking up
through the frozen ground. And Berach gathered there a great bunch of
juicy, tart sorrel which makes such good salad. Then with his arms
full,--what with this and his apples and the blessed staff,--he
floundered back through the snowdrifts to the monastery. They received
him eagerly and there was great rejoicing. Little Edward was revived by
the out-of-season dainties thus miraculously provided for him, and soon
became quite well again.
It was many years after this, again a hard and cruel winter, when Saint
Berach made another wonder come to pass. Meantime he had grown older and
even wiser. He had himself been made Abbot and had built a monastery of
his own in a lonely place far away from Glendalough. But he had an
enemy. There was a rich man who wanted the land which Berach had
chosen, and who was so envious that he tried to do him spite in every
way he could. He even sought to destroy the monastery. Then Berach
appealed to the King for protection, and both men were summoned to the
court.
The rich man went in a chariot, splendid in his fine robes of fur, with
a gold chain about his neck. And the guards hurried to let down the
portcullis for him, and with low bows bade him enter. But when Saint
Berach came he wore only his gray monk's robe, all torn and tattered. He
was shivering with cold, and weak from having walked so far. So they
thought him a mere beggar and would not let him in. As he stood outside
the gate, friendless and alone, some rude boys who had gathered there
began to laugh and jeer at his bare sandaled feet and the rents in his
robe through which the cold winds blew. They made snowballs and rushed
upon him in a crowd, like the cowards they were, pelting the poor man
most cruelly. But suddenly, what do you think? Their arms stiffened as
they raised them to throw the balls; their legs stuck fast in the snow;
the grins froze on their faces; and they were almost choked by the
shouts which turned to ice in their throats. What had happened? Well,
Saint Berach had merely breathed upon them, and they were as if turned
into ice, so that they could not stir. Br-r-r! How cold they were!
Then the Saint made ready to warm himself. A drift of snow had fallen
from the palace gate when it opened to let in the rich man. And going up
to this he blew upon it. He blew a warm breath this time. Instantly the
whole heap burst into flame, and snapped and crackled like the fire in
the chimney-place of the dining-hall at home. In front of this merry
blaze the good Saint stood, warming his hands and thawing out his poor
frozen feet. But the group of boys stood like statues of snow; so cold,
so cold, but unable to come nearer to the fire; so frightened, so
frightened, but unable to run away.
This is what the King's guards saw when, terrified by the crackling of
the fire and the great light which shone through the chinks of the gate,
they came to see what it all meant. They ran to the King and told him
of the strange sight. And he himself with a crowd of courtiers came out
to look. When he saw the ragged beggar who had done all this he was
filled with amazement. He immediately suspected that this must be a holy
man and powerful. So he invited Berach into the palace hall, and there
listened to his story.
Now when all was done the rich man was bundled away in disgrace, for
daring to meddle with the good works of so wonderful a Saint. But Berach
was honored and admired.
Before he went back to his monastery they begged him to restore the
naughty boys to life and motion. Now Berach had wanted only to teach
them a lesson, not to punish them too severely; for he was too
kind-hearted to injure any living creature. So going out into the
courtyard he blew upon the snow figures, and once more they became live
boys. You can imagine how glad they were when they found they were able
to move their legs and arms again.
Now Berach went back to his monastery in one of the King's chariots,
with a robe of fur and a gold chain about his neck. And you may be sure
he carried with him many other gifts and precious things from the King,
who never thereafter suffered him to be troubled in his far-off
retreat.